Not Helping!
by LadyNyxRavus
Summary: Monroe really did have an actual reason for being at the man's house at 6:30 in the morning. Really, he did. Of course, Nick just HAD to be wearing red, didn't he? And taking it off with nothing on underneath was NOT helpful in the slightest.


**AN: For the following anonymous prompt over on the Grimm kinkmeme: **

**_"Monroe unexpectedly stops by Nick's house. Not normally a problem, except for this time, since he wasn't expecting Monroe, Nick is wearing a bright red hoodie._  
_Monroe freaks out (Not in a 'me-wolf-smash' way, but a 'damn it, are you trying to get yourself killed?' way.) And Nick's all, 'Shit, sorry' and just casually takes his shirt off, and Monroe is all 'asjkfhkl, NOT HELPING!'"_**

**And people wonder why I get so distracted every time I watch television. It's this sort of thing that worms itself into my head and goddamnit I can't help it! **

**Reviews are appreciated. Especially since I always feel awkward about my sex scenes. **

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**Not Helping!**

At first he's only going over to show Nick what it feels like to have someone that's _supposed_ to be your enemy or predator or executioner show up at your door unannounced but it doesn't turn out to do a goddamn thing _at all_. It's all Nick's fault too; the Grimm wouldn't know self-preservation if it jumped up and bit him in the arse.

Not that Monroe is inclined to just _let_ something bite Nick in the arse – not anymore – but the sentiment remains the same. The Grimm is just…infuriating.

He admits that he wasn't just going over to make a point. He was also going over because Nick had a clock he couldn't for the life of him figure out. Belonged to his long-dead grandfather and his ex-girlfriend had apparently not liked the thing so off to storage it went. With her absence from Nick's house – and the loss of half their combined furniture – the detective had been attempting to fill the sparse clapboard with just _things_ to make it seem more lived-in.

Apparently this was something difficult to do when one was a detective. Go figure.

So Monroe had heard the man mention in passing this clock he'd found in storage. He said it was a clock in a sort of glass jar (a _skeleton clock_, Monroe had snapped in correction only to receive a blank look and a repetition of 'clock in a glass jar' – the plebeian) and that it was shaped kind of like a castle. He couldn't figure out how it worked and would Monroe please take a look at it sometime?

Sure, take a look at it. Like he didn't have other _paying_ clients he had to work on first. Like he had all the time in the world to just work on clocks willy-nilly. Like he didn't have a strict schedule that mandated all the clocks were sent to him at a specified date so he could arrange precisely when each project would be finished. And damn it, he was going to fix the clock in a jar wasn't he?

He was. Grimms!Can't live with them, can't live…

Well, he was sure an expression existed somewhere in there. Probably.

The point was that he really did have an actual reason for being at the man's house at six thirty in the morning. Really, he did. An actual real – professional even – reason for barging into the detective's house the moment he opened the door bleary-eyed and sleep-rumpled.

Or, rather, he did until he saw what Nick was wearing.

"Oh _come on_ man! Unfair!"

"What are you doing here?" He has to be deliberately ignoring Monroe to miss the point this badly.

"Clock – I was going to…" Red. A red hoodie. Is it really that cold in his bedroom? Did he grab it off the floor? It smells _delicious_. Oh god his fangs are poking aren't they? "Fix it. I was going to fix it. Now. You're always at my house."

Nick just looks amused, the prick. He's smirking just this side of sleepy and it looks fucking _hot_. And the red… "Something wrong Monroe?"

"What? No. Yes." He doesn't know what he saying anymore. The red is maddening on a good day and _thrilling_ on Nick smelling of sweat and his delightfully empty bed that Monroe could just claim because there's no one to stop him and he's sure Nick wouldn't say a word being fucked into the mattr –

Stop. Stop it now. He's not – Nick's a Grimm!

"Seriously?" he tries instead and he's aware it comes out sounding strangled, thanks Nick and the raised eyebrow that only makes him look imperious and even _more_ sexy, great! "Do you have _any_ self-preservation instinct? Any at all?"

"What are you talking about?" Now he looks confused until understanding dawns. "Oh, shit, the sweater?"

"_Yess_s," he manages to hiss out and he has to look away now, before it gets any worse and his vision bleeds red. But then, of course, Nick just _strips the sweater off _and he's _not wearing another_ and… "NOT HELPING!" he cries and tries to look away, really he does, but damn if the Grimm isn't the perfect blend of lean muscle and low-strung pants.

With red boxer-briefs peeking out underneath.

Nick isn't even surprised when he's suddenly pinned against the wall of his foyer by nearly two hundred pounds of desperately turned-on Blutbad, damn him. He just lets himself get manhandled into position and grins rakishly as Monroe noses at his throat and leaves a stripe of saliva along his pulse-point and _growls_.

"Sorry, why were you here again?" Nick asks and Monroe is going to wipe that smug smirk off his face before the day is over for fucking sure.

He starts by forcing Nick's legs to part to accommodate him and shoves up against the other man's groin. The dark head gets tossed back just a little and he groans throatily even as his hands clamp down on Monroe's biceps. His wolf gets a little thrill at the sight of the pale throat and jumping Adam's apple. He nearly leans forward and just _bites_ but he has so much _more_ he wants so he holds off.

For now.

"Prick," he snarls and he's aware that his eyes are red. Nick's pupils are blown wide and black and his breath is coming in short bursts that fan across his face. He has morning breath which is horrid all the time except, apparently, when a Blutbad wants desperately to climax in his perfect, tight, red-clad ass.

"_Please_," Nick breaths and tilts his head toward the stairs even as he attempts to wiggle down. It does nothing but rub their erections against each other through barriers of cloth but it sufficiently distracts them enough that the rest of the Grimm's sentence is almost missed. "Lube. Condoms. The _bed_." He moans and that neck tilts back again.

Once that thought has finally penetrated (oh god, the puns his brain comes up with when he's horny – fuck, '_comes_ up with…' – he blames Nick) there's a sort of mutual scrambling to the bedroom. Nick's laughing and doesn't protest when he's caught and pinned against the stairs as Monroe loses his shirt and curls faintly pointed nails into his shoulders. He half-groans half-grunts and arches away from the stairs and against the Blutbad's chest. There's a lot of tongue and a lot of teeth in a delightfully sloppy kiss and then he's flipped them and scrambling up hands and feet working together to haul himself up quick before Monroe can manage to catch the wind he's just had knocked out of his chest. He watches him scramble because his ass wiggles as he goes and it's a beautiful thing to see.

"Coming?" the detective teases from the top of the stairs – eyes laughing and dark and bright all at once.

Monroe barks laughter. Nick's lips curve as he quite correctly guesses that he's laughing at the horrible, horrible pun. He manages to get to his feet and by then Nick's just peeking around the corner and chortling.

He catches the Grimm again against the wall outside the bedroom door. His blood is thrumming with the chase and his wolf is _very_ interested in sniffing around this delightful new partner they've found. It isn't like Monroe isn't interested; he and his 'wolf' aren't different entities – it's the difference between his conscious and his instincts like how you can be consciously aware that the innocent little spider in the corner isn't going to hurt you even as you scream and leap away.

Not that he's afraid of spiders. He had a point didn't he? Right: Nick is fucking hot and all of him knows it.

There's that red again. His fangs are poking out and he doesn't care, just fingers along the edge of Nick's boxer-briefs and dips his head to suck bright red marks all along his collarbones. Nick tries to bring his head up to latch them together mouth-to-mouth but Monroe remains on his quest to literally mark a collar around the other's neck. He ends up running his hands desperately through Monroe's hair and tugging ineffectually in time with the way he writhes and tries to get them into the bedroom _now_.

"Impatient?" he rumbles just to watch those eyes narrow and feel the Grimm cant his hips forward into more delicious contact. His fingers cup Nick and the man whines – arching into the touch and reaching out to try to touch Monroe in return. He shifts backwards but keeps Nick pinned to the wall. There's a frustrated human growl that makes him grin. "Wasn't I here to fix your clock?"

"Try that one again," Nick snaps and this time manages (well, Monroe lets him) to get them into the bedroom. "Only this time, lose the 'l' in clock."

They stare at each other for a long moment and then Nick chortles and they're clutching one another and dissolving into hopeless laughter resplendent with snorting, hooting, and gasping for breath.

"That was," he gasps, "so very, very lame. I'm almost turned off."

"Yeah right," Nick snorts derisively and pulls his own pants and underwear off completely before he reaches for Monroe's. "Try _that_ one again without your pants."

"Okay, I lied." They get the loose jogging pants off and he has to wiggle to get them off from around his knees but they're eventually kicked to the end of the bed and Nick actually licks his lips when he lightly brushes against the Blutbad's heavy erection. Monroe moans and can't stop the movement of his hips at the touch. Nick grins and does it again.

He's on top of the other who laughs and eagerly accepts the open-mouthed tongue-filled kiss he's offered. It's slick and warm and wonderful. Monroe can't remember the last time he had sex that was this much _fun_.

"You said something about lube?" he rasps. Nick brightens and turns to root around the bedside table, crawling back triumphantly with condom and lube both.

"Please tell me you aren't allergic to silicon," Nick breathes against his throat as he offers both over to Monroe.

"You're in luck," he grins and nips at the spot right behind the ear. The lube comes in a rocker-top bottle that fits in his palm and he coats his fingers liberally before reaching under the delightfully naked Grimm and spreading it first around and then in.

Nick moans almost wantonly and rocks against Monroe's fingers. It's been awhile since he was last with a man and so it takes him a moment to find the right spot but then he does and crooks a finger against it and just wiggles. Nick groans and goes still – fighting over whether or not to move or just keep going and let the pleasure take its course. He whines again and rakes his blunt nails against Monroe's back.

"Fuck, hurry _up_," he gasps out. "Not a virgin you know."

"Were you saying something?" he watches as Nick moans and writhes again when he hits the prostate once more. "Something about…please Eddie Monroe, please prep my ass properly so you can pound me into the mattress that smells of too many nights jacking off alone?"

"_Fuck_," Nick hisses again and his eyes are dark and the Grimm glares. "Do that but do it _quickly_."

"Not your fairy godmother, Grimm," he drags his fingers out just to add more lube and then grab the condom package. "Open it," he demands, "my fingers are slippery."

Nick – defying the law that says the difficulty of opening those stupid packages is in direct proportion to how much you want to fuck someone – gets it out and Monroe fits it on over his aching cock. He'd ideally have Nick on his hands and knees doggy style but he'd rather not bring his stupid instincts over into a 'breeding' mind-frame if he can help it. Nick might not be a virgin but he's certainly never been with a creature which has a habit of knotting during sex.

Instead he practically bends Nick in half fitting his ankles over his shoulders. He looks delicious all covered in lube and clenching around the absence of fingers. There's a moment to line up and ensure he's actually going to go in and then he slides home in one smooth motion.

They both moan now – fully groaning, loud and (in Monroe's case) with a hint of snarl. From there it's all the slip-slide of their coupling, the obscene smacking of skin against skin and the welt _shlick_ of his cock in Nick's ass, and heavy panting and moaning and _growling_.

He bends forward right near completing and fixes his fully-out fangs over the shoulder junction and just bites. He's careful not to pull back and tear and Nick doesn't seem to care – rocking quickly and desperately and pulling him closer in an attempt to go _deeper_. The taste of Nick's blood – _Grimm blood_ – sends him over the edge and he just stifles the howl that wants to be muffled against the skin in his fangs.

Nick stops moving which is perfect because Monroe is too sensitive to have him keep going right now but the detective is sweating and making low anxious noises that make his instincts leap up and demand he finish this _properly_. He reaches down and it only takes a few long jerks to bring the other man off.

They stay there – mostly unmoving except for heavy breathing – until Nick nods and his legs start to slip. Then Monroe pulls out, tugs the condom off and tosses it to the floor, and falls over to lie beside the delightfully fucked Grimm.

He has his eyes closed but he can hear the other chuckle even though it comes out whispery and hoarse. "How long has that been held back then?"

"Too fucking long, clearly," he rumbles. Nick laughs and there's a warm mouth pressed to his. He's too tired to return the kiss but the Grimm just sort of falls there against his chest and continues to chuckle against his throat.

They lay in comfortable lazy silence in a room that smells like sex and sweat and morning breath. Just as he thinks Nick's breathing is evening out and his pulse slowing, the Grimm mumbles something and giggles. "What?"

"Are you actually going to fix my clock?"

"Oh for fu – get over here!"

**The End.**


End file.
